That's How I Knew This Story Would Break My Heart
by QueenOfQuiet17
Summary: She had seen it all before; she had written it all down. She knew how it would end before it even began. Because history is repeatable; history is inescapable. Grace/Karen.
1. A Kind Of Sweet Chanticleer

_"I drew a picture of you  
You and your anchor tatoo  
And saw the face that I knew  
Covered in shame  
You drew a bird that was here  
A kind of sweet chanticleer  
But with a terrible fear  
That the cage couldn't tame."  
~Aimee Mann, "That's How I Knew This Story Would Break My Heart"  
_

_1999: Age 39_

At the red light, she looked to the passenger seat and picked up the remnants of the dead. She wished she didn't have it, because she knew that somehow, it stood for the fact that she would be next. But it was in her possession now, given to her by someone whose hope had run out years ago. She could only hold it carefully, gingerly, simply out of respect for the ones who eventually left in one way or another, even though she understood that most of them did not deserve it. Because she could not erase history; she could only add to it and hope she didn't repeat it. If only this history didn't leave her wishing she could have done something to change it.

Everyone who came before her now rested in her hands. Karen had told her once in a private moment that her mother tried to instill in her the habit of keeping a diary when she was young. The only problem was that Karen never wanted to waste time on the mundane things that could easily fill the pages of a notebook or a journal. And whenever she did write in it, it was usually about love found, love lost. So it became a graveyard of sorts. Here lies the memory of her first love at thirteen. Over there lies the prom queen she fell in love with but couldn't reconcile until she became much older. Moving through the string of one-night stands and names she couldn't remember. Broken marriages, broken promises, broken hearts. All short, concise passages. All in a tightly bound notebook, some loose pages sandwiched between the front cover and the first page.

The light turned green, and Grace drove until she found a place to pull over, and put the car in park. The snow was falling steadily now, and for a moment, the red head marveled at how white it was. Snow in New York could so easily tarnish, taxis speeding by and grinding the dirt of their tires against the purity of nature. Now that she was out of the city, out of the state of New York entirely, she had a chance to take in the beauty that something so simple could possess. But this was not why she was driving. This was not why she franticly raced out of her apartment in search of a woman who likely did not want to be found. She was in Vermont, headed towards the Walkers' cabin because, while Karen liked to think she was spontaneous, Grace had come to know her habits. Grace paid attention. And in a fleeting moment one night under the moon, when they could start to see their breath in the cold, Karen murmured that it was the cabin she retreated to whenever she wanted to be alone, when she got sick of Manhattan. Karen probably thought that the red head wasn't listening; not a lot of people did. But Grace listened. Grace heard every word.

If the others didn't listen, maybe she stood some chance of protecting their love after all.

But because she listened, her hope was starting to dwindle too.

_When I start to feel loved, I pull away. I can't help it. I don't want to. It's just that I've thought I had it so many times, and then it was taken away, or it was never there to begin with and I was merely deluding myself into thinking it was in my reach. And it's happened too much for me to ever want to chance it again. I don't love Stan; that became apparent quickly. But he didn't seem to have a deep attachment to me, other than the fact that I looked good on his arm, and I thought that maybe this would do. Don't tell me you'll love me forever, Grace. Forever doesn't exist. Forever isn't true. You don't know what will happen tomorrow. I just want to soften the blow as much as possible when it comes._

Said in different moments in different inflections, but now everything seemed to form one ominous monologue in Grace's mind. She thought she could be the one to change it all. Because on some level, isn't that what everyone thinks they are capable of this when they've fallen in love with someone who has been let down by every one of her former lovers? But she was swimming against the tide. Karen was starting to pull away recently, and the red head could see it. And as much as Grace tried, she could not escape this fate; she woke up this morning with Karen nowhere to be found and this notebook on the nightstand.

_Don't tell me you'll love me forever, Grace_. The first time Karen had said that, Grace gave her a sly smirk, and, thinking it was a joke, told her "Okay, then…I'll love you today." And when Karen smiled back, there was a hint of hesitation. The red head never realized that she might have inadvertently made light of something heavy, and as a result, she kept saying it until it became a reflex, until Karen had started saying it too. I love you today. _I love you today, too._

Grace wished that before she went to bed last night, she would have told Karen that she'll love her tomorrow as well. A selfish end, but at least it would have ended the way it began.

Everything had started because Grace had been selfish. Seeing this well put-together, and presumably well to do, woman walk through the door of Grace Adler Designs was certainly unexpected, but inevitably the one thing the red head didn't even realize she wanted. This woman who had no viable qualities for the position Grace was hiring for, this woman who merely wanted a reason to get out of the house every day. But her contacts were impressive, and she stirred something in Grace that she couldn't recognize and didn't know was there, but wanted it to stay alive. So she did whatever she could to ensure that this woman was a part of her life in some capacity. The night they first kissed was a blur to her now—a blissful, thrilling blur—but although they had only been together for a few months, she couldn't remember a time without the dark haired woman in her arms. And she wanted to keep it that way.

There was never any pretense; they had always been straightforward in their actions. Too many times they had been hoodwinked, betrayed, all because they wore their emotions on their sleeve. Grace had started to harden a bit as a result, but Karen had been solid as a rock for years. So they never beat around the bush; they always went straight for what they wanted, despite Karen's constant remarks of how much Grace reminded her of someone from her past. In a way, it made Karen that much more irresistible to Grace. But more than that, it made their connection wholly addictive.

The red head could not compare the sheer force of Karen's heart to anything, because she had never experienced anything like it before. Grace didn't know if it was because she was carrying on like this with another woman—something that she had never done, but was never entirely sure she didn't want—or if it was just because until now, she didn't know anyone quite like Karen Walker. That flame torched everything she held to be familiar, leaving the dark haired woman standing among the ash and debris. The heat of the fire became comforting, soothing. It became home. And then last night, Karen fell asleep saying those fated words: _I think maybe I need to go away for a little while._ She had said it a couple of times before, when her marriage to Stan became entirely unbearable, but she never acted on it; she had simply rested in the red head's arms until she felt better. So Grace just assumed this time was like the others.

And then, in the morning, Karen was gone.

Maybe the drawing was the first sign of their seemingly imminent demise. A few weeks ago, out of sheer boredom and a slow work day, Grace found herself doodling an image of a nude Karen on a blank page of her sketchpad, lying on white sheets that had covered her in certain places, careful to catch the beauty of her curves, her eyes, the way her hair was slightly tousled from tossing and turning in bed the night before. On her hips, Grace sketched the tattoos the dark haired woman told no one about: On her right was a crudely drawn "S," written as a block letter against her skin, and on her left was a small anchor, holding a significance that Grace didn't know. Each stroke of her pencil brought her closer to the daydream, closer to the image of waking up to her lover this morning that she wanted to keep for good.

Looking up at Karen across the room, she realized that the dark haired woman was engrossed in her own work, running her pen across a piece of paper. Grace couldn't help but get absorbed by the scene; she had become lost in the wonder that was the dark haired woman's silence, lulled into a level of peace the red head only associated with her. And it suddenly shattered when Karen abruptly crumpled up the paper she had been so intently concentrating on, and threw it in the trashcan beside her desk. Grace, not knowing what else to do, had quickly shifted her gaze back to her sketchpad, alarmed by the hasty reaction Karen had to her own work. When the dark haired woman had left for the restroom, Grace searched through the trashcan and tried her best to flatten the paper ball. She found that Karen drew a bird in an open cage, looking mournful, fearful to escape. The red head couldn't help but take it as a sign of a fear that Karen wasn't telling her about. And it consumed her.

Ever since she found the crumpled up drawing in the trash, Grace had the overwhelming feeling that soon it would be over. She had the overwhelming feeling that those fleeting "You remind me of her…you remind me of him" comments weren't so fleeting after all, and have built up a wall that is proving difficult to climb. Karen had gotten more distant, not because she had fallen out of love, but because she was in too deep, and it scared her. And what else can you do when you're scared but retreat to a safe place?

Now, Grace left the car idling on the side of the road, unwilling to give up heat as she took a rest from her drive, as she began to build up the courage to read what she had been given. She had always wanted to understand what Karen had gone through, and had expressed her desire to the dark haired woman on more than one occasion. Upon first impression, Karen Walker always comes off as an extremely guarded person. _You don't know what you're asking_, Karen had said. But it did not deter her. She wanted to know. She wanted to ensure that that part of Karen's history was over.

On a sticky note attached to the front cover of the notebook, in Karen's looped handwriting, she read the words she had until now not given a first glance at. And she wanted to cry at the statement—short, simple, and no matter if she hopes against it, possibly true.

_This is how I know you'll break my heart._

If she was going to save this, she had to know what she was up against before she saw Karen again. She had to know the people who have affected the dark haired woman, so she knew what to do in order to remind Karen of them, but not repeat their mistakes. So she opened up the notebook and began to look through her lover's history.


	2. Last Call Lullabye

_"I'll give you quarters to play any song that you want on the jukebox  
Fixin' to find us a daddy who'll keep buying me whiskey on the rocks  
Mama loves you  
And the barstool is...shhh...  
_

_Let the pool table be your cozy cradle tonight  
Let that 8-ball be your teddy bear  
I'll sing you to sleep after one more beer  
Hey just one more, one more, one more, one more beer  
Your mama's right here  
And the barstool is your babysitter  
And the parking lot is your perfect playground  
And you're the best goddamned baby in this town  
And the barstool is your babysitter tonight."  
~Mary Birdsong, "Last Call Lullabye"  
_

_1966: Age 7_

_From the diary of Karen Delaney: "Mommy says she's looking for Daddy. She's not going to find him."_

In such a small town, you know everybody's business, whether you want to or not. Everybody knew about the Delaneys. Everybody knew that Chris Delaney died in a freak work accident, leaving behind his wife and daughter. Everybody knew that it didn't take long for Lois Delaney to go through the grieving process and get back on her feet in a way that was less than admirable. Everybody knew that Lois went to a dive bar in the next town over so that her business wouldn't be their business (but word traveled fast anyway; there was no stopping it). And everybody knew that when Lois went out at night, she took little Karen with her.

Lois played it off as suddenly being thrown into the role of a single mother, not knowing what else she could do with her kid; she certainly couldn't leave Karen home alone, and it's not like she had a family anymore. But everybody knew that Lois Delaney—who no longer considered her married name a part of her, but used it to keep up appearances—used her daughter as a prop, in order to gain the sympathy of the men she met.

"We're going on a little adventure, Kiki." Her mother said this every time she loaded her in the car and drove off. Lois always tried to make it seem as though she was taking Karen to a special land that no other kids have seen, as though Karen should consider herself lucky because of this. And every time, Karen let herself believe that this night would be different than all the other nights. This night would be exactly how Mommy described it. But when she walked through the door holding Lois' hand, she quickly realized that it would be the same as it always was.

As Lois dragged her up to the bar, Karen tugged on her mother's arm. She was tired already; she just wanted to fall asleep in her bed. "Mommy," she said. "Please can we go home now? I don't want to be here."

"Sweetheart, we just got here," Lois said with a forced smile as she helped her daughter up onto a stool at the end of the bar. No one ever questioned the presence of a small child here; perhaps that should have been a signal as to the kind of people frequented this place. "Remember, I'm doing this for you. I'm going to find you a daddy who can take care of you, and of me. Don't you worry. Look, Lucien is here tonight, he'll look after you. Here, take these." She handed her daughter some quarters. "You can play with the jukebox whenever you want." And with that, she ordered her whiskey on the rocks, setting her sights on any man who looked like he took care of himself before she tried to work her way into his heart. Karen rested her head in her arms on the bar, blankly watching her mother try to deliver on promises Lois knew she couldn't keep.

"Well, hey, little lady. You don't look like you belong here. You're better than this old place." Karen jumped suddenly at the sound of another voice, and looked up to see a smiling Lucien, one of the regular bartenders, across from her behind the bar. She gave him a small "Hi," and tried to put on a smile. Even though she hated the bar, she liked Lucien. He made her feel less alone when her mother brought her here. "I bet I know how to make that smile a little bigger," he said. And before her eyes, Karen watched him pour Coca-Cola over ice into a daiquiri glass, drop a cherry on a stem into it and stuck a small paper umbrella into the drink along with a straw. He knew these little additions were just that—little—but when he thought about what her home situation must be like, he wanted to make sure she was treated like a princess at least some time in her life. "Just for you, darlin'," Lucien said as he slid it across the bar into the little girl's hands. "You just tell me when you want another one, okay?" Karen nodded and sipped her soda, watched as Lucien shifted his attention to his other regulars.

It had been two hours before Lois came to check on her daughter. "Oh, Kiki," she slurred, looking back at the man she had been talking up for the better part of the night. "You are being such a good girl. You're the best goddamned baby in this town." She leaned in and kissed Karen on the cheek. Karen could smell whiskey on her mother's breath. And despite the child's protests—"But Mama…"—Lois told her "I'll only be a little longer" before returning to her new gentleman friend. Karen could feel the tears in her throat.

She looked at the quarters on the bar. It was going to be a long night. And she just wanted to go home.

* * *

_1998: Age 39_

"You're the best goddamned baby in this town." It had become a habit now, this little toast to herself, under her breath, just before the alcohol hit her lips and she surrendered to the intoxication she had come to depend on. It served as nothing more than a sharp reminder that although she had tried her hardest not to, she had inevitably become her mother, looking in the wrong places for love, getting to the point where love was no longer a factor in seeking out a viable mate. Sure, she wasn't looking in small-town dive bars, but the love she had found in Manhattan, in the South, in all the other places she looked, wasn't love at all, except for that one time. And look how quickly and crudely it had been taken away from her. But now, she was stuck in a loveless marriage, and she actually preferred it; she couldn't be disappointed because the bar was already set so low. Besides, she had come to realize that the only people she could really trust were the bartenders who served her. She could trust Lucien to make her a little more comfortable when her mother went out to meet men. She could trust every other bartender to give her exactly what she says she wants.

She wasn't quite sure how she ended up in this dive bar in the Village; maybe it was because her history had wired her to move towards these places. But the likelier reason was that she wanted to be somewhere she normally wasn't. She had gotten so sick of the socialite circle she became a part of once her relationship with Stan had become legitimate. She just wished she remembered where she kept all the clothes she had saved from her past. She felt ridiculous in her Chanel, nursing her whiskey on the rocks (sentimental reasons), sitting at a bar with chips in the wood.

"You don't look like you belong here." Karen jumped at the voice and looked next to her, found a red headed woman brushing a lock of curls behind her ear. Silence for a moment, and then "I don't mean that as a bad thing. This place is kind of a dump. But the booze is cheap, so I guess that's a plus." The red head took a sip of her drink. "Although I think I can safely assume that money isn't necessarily an issue."

Karen let a sly little smile play across her face. "If I told you I was one of those poor little rich girls looking to slum it for a little while to shake up the monotony of her daily life, you would laugh in my face, right?"

"Not necessarily. Park Avenue might be fun for a little while, but I'd think that it would get boring at a certain point. It's more interesting on this side of the fence."

"I know. I used to hang around in places like this all the time. Maybe I'm trying to regain a sense of who I was back then. I liked myself a lot better back then." Karen winced when she said that. She didn't even know this woman; why was she so willing to spill her entire life story to her so quickly? "God, I'm so sorry," she said. "This isn't why you came here tonight; I didn't mean to start burdening you with my problems. That was so rude of me."

"Hey, it's okay. Usually it's the bartender who acts as therapist," the red head started as a joke. "But the bartender here is a little bit of a jerk. So I don't mind filling in." She inched her way closer to Karen, slid her glass in front of her. "Besides," she said, "you're not the only one who's hiding from something. Although I'm not sure if my dull relationship can compare to the woes of socialite living."

Karen could tell that there was something eating at the red head, behind the sarcasm and jokes to lighten the mood. And somehow, that made her more comfortable around the woman. Knowing that she wasn't alone—even if their problems came from different places—made her feel safe in the company of this stranger. And she didn't want to leave tonight. She tried to flag the bartender down and told the red head, "Why don't I buy the next round and we can commiserate?" The woman sitting next to her smiled and nodded. "I don't even know your name," Karen said suddenly. "I'm Karen."

"Grace," the red head said quietly, before launching into the woes of her personal life. Karen never had anyone to talk to about things like this. And there was something about Grace—as she talked, as she listened—that Karen couldn't place but wanted to be in the presence of always. This was the most companionship she had felt for as long as she could remember, and she just met this woman.

Regardless, she wanted to make it a long night. Because she didn't want to go home.


	3. Thirteen

_"Won't you let me walk you home from school?  
Won't you let me meet you at the pool?  
Maybe Friday I can  
Get tickets for the dance  
And I'll take you..."  
~Big Star, "Thirteen  
_

_1972: Age 13_

_From the diary of Karen Delaney: "Please let me stay here. I like this place. I like him. I really like him. I like that I don't have to worry about where we're going to live next. Mom seems like she calmed down. I don't think she's going to hurt anyone like she's hurt those men again. I even like the guy she met. He doesn't pretend that he's Dad. He doesn't act like anyone except who he is. Maybe we can finally be normal. For once."_

She had just entered middle school in a new town. By her count—which may not have been the most reliable—this was the sixth new town that she, her mother, and her little sister (whose father Lois could not place and was therefore forced to concoct a grandiose fable about him not only for Virginia but also for Karen in the hopes that she would still be young enough to be fooled) had come to in order to start a better life. And when they ended up in North Carolina, Karen was hesitant to unpack her bags, living out of her suitcases for a full month before Lois could successfully convince her that they wouldn't leave for a long time, if ever. But eventually, Karen and her mother started hanging her clothes up in her closet. Eventually, they settled in.

In the year they lived there, Lois had found a man she liked, and instead of conning him out of his money, tried to make a home with him. Virginia, who had spent all of her little life moving constantly from one state to another, slowly got used to a stationary way of living. And Karen settled into her new school, with her new friends, before she caught the eye of a quiet boy in her English class. Looking back on this as she grew older, Karen would laugh at her young first love while at the same time wanting to go back to a point where she was that happy in a relationship, no matter how naïve or ridiculous that first relationship with Daniel was (when she did look back in later years, she would no longer remember what his name was and hated that she forgot). They were shy, because they didn't know what they were doing. And because they were shy, they were kind to each other. And because they were kind to each other, Karen didn't want it to end.

On a Wednesday afternoon, Daniel was walking Karen home once school ended, as he always did during the week. The palm of his hand was warm as she fit her own inside of it. She looked down to see the way her fingers tangled with his and smiled; she liked the way it felt. "I think I can still get tickets for the dance on Friday," he said quietly as she looked up to face him. "If you want to go, that is. Maybe we can go for ice cream after."

"Yeah," Karen said as she tightened her hold on his hand. "That would be great. You really want to go with me?"

"Well, yeah." Daniel turned to meet her gaze, gave her a crooked smile. "I like you. Why wouldn't I want to go with you?" They spent the rest of the walk in a comfortable silence, and she watched him head home after he dropped her off at her doorstep. When she walked into the house, she found her little sister in tears on the living room couch, clutching her teddy bear as tightly as she could to her chest.

Karen dropped her books and her bag and rushed to her side. "Ginny, what happened?" she asked. All Virginia could do was shake her head; if she wanted to talk, she didn't have the voice to do so. From the kitchen, Karen could hear her mother calling out that it was going to be okay. She followed Lois' voice and found her shoving the remnants of what was supposed to be their permanent life in this town into worn suitcases, the sight of which Karen had come to dread. "Mom?" she said meekly, hoping that if she interrupted the scene, it would never play out to the end.

"Kiki, go pack your clothing, anything that you absolutely need," Lois said evenly. It was too calm for the situation, and it scared Karen. "We need to get out of here now." Karen tried to form the words for a protest, or at the very least, a request for an explanation, but her mother cut her off before she even began. "Don't argue with me right now, Karen. We have to go. Everything will be okay; I just need you to listen to me. Go pack your bags. Take your sister with you. Try to calm her down." And with her sister in tow, Karen went upstairs to her bedroom, pulled her clothes from her closet while trying to reassure Virginia that everything will be okay soon, even though she wasn't sure of it herself.

Later, she would find out the reason they had to leave so suddenly. Later, she would find out that Lois had gone back to her old ways, and started slowly stealing money from the man she had been seeing, eventually taking too much for him not to notice. Lois wanted to leave before things got worse. No one knew where they were headed then, but that was the same as every other time they fled their home. They would find a hotel to stay at for a few days before figuring out a plan to put their family back on the path of normalcy. But frankly, Karen had gotten sick of it, sick of her mother's ways, sick of never feeling at home, sick of everything. She felt herself start to hate her mother for forcing her daughters to go through this. But most of all, she was upset. Because she never got a say in these decisions. Because she wanted to go to the dance on Friday night.

Because she never got to say goodbye to her first love.

* * *

_1998: Age 39_

"I can leave…you know, if this is awkward. When I saw the ad, I didn't realize it was you. I didn't know your last name until now. Honestly, I didn't think I was ever going to see you again."

Karen never expected to find herself sitting in Grace Adler Designs like this. She just knew that life inside a stifling Park Avenue penthouse became too much to bear. The air was suffocating; she could feel the life inside of her slip away, and the worst part was that Stan didn't notice. Or, if he did, he didn't bring attention to it, and Karen couldn't figure out which scenario was worse. So this morning, when her husband left for work, she found herself pacing around their home, thumbing through the paper and coming across the classifieds. Her eyes had settled on an ad asking for an assistant to an interior designer.

Two things came to her mind as soon as she read that little print square. The first was that answering phones wouldn't be so hard. The second was that she could use this as an excuse to escape the prison that had become the place she was supposed to call home.

When she walked into the office, she froze when the red head she met at the bar a couple of weeks ago made eye contact with her from across the room. Grace had faltered a little bit, obviously surprised to see the stranger she had so willingly opened up to before standing in front of her in hopes of employment. And Karen wasn't sure if she imagined it, but she could swear that she saw the slightest hint of a smile when Grace looked down at her appointment book. Now, they were sitting across from each other in a silence Karen couldn't gauge.

"No, please don't go," Grace said. "Granted, I never expected to see you again, but I'm really glad you're here." The red head played with the rings on her fingers and took the sight of Karen in for a moment. "I know you don't have a resume, but honestly, I'm not looking for much. I basically just need someone to answer the phones, send some faxes, and occasionally run a few errands. And it's good that we already know a little bit about each other. At least I know we can communicate pretty well."

"I can probably get you a few high profile clients too. I don't mean to pull that out and wave it around. I'm actually regretting that I just said it. But I'll do whatever you want me to do. And I'll be here whenever you want me to be here. I don't have any pressing commitments."

"So why do you want to work for me?"

"Do you want the standard answer or the real answer?" Grace laughed to fill the silence following Karen's question. And whether or not it was a sign to go for it, the dark haired woman went with the latter. "I don't want to go home. I hate it there. I want to do something bigger than what I've got there. And I know this doesn't seem big, but at least it's bigger than nothing. And now that I know it's you, I feel like I picked your ad for a reason, whether I knew it before or not. You know some of my issues. You officially know me better than some of the women who are supposed to be my friends. This seems like a safe space."

In that moment, the red head's eyes softened more than Karen had ever seen anyone do so. It wasn't as though Grace was a hard-hearted person, because she wasn't; but whereas before she had warmed up to Karen, now she had melted. Whether it was out of pity or genuine strange friendship, Grace asked, "Can you start now?"

Karen looked at the clock on the wall behind the red head. It was nearing noon. She sighed with relief at the thought of not having to return to an empty home just yet, and smiled. "I would love to start now. Thank you for this, Grace."

Grace watched this woman stand up, make her way towards what was now her desk; this woman who looked like she would never be forced into a situation to find work, yet needed this position the most. "Wait," she said, watching the dark haired woman stop to catch her gaze. "I can do this since you technically haven't started working for me yet." And in one swift movement, she moved to the other side of the room and took Karen in her arms in a hug. "I'm so glad that you're here."

Karen couldn't figure out what was more surprising: the fact that when she wrapped her arms around the red head, Grace tightened her hold, or the realization that this was the most she had ever felt with another person since Stan first put his ring on her finger.


	4. Wendy

_"It's the upshot of being the beauty queen  
It's a damn good place to be seen  
Oh, must be quite good  
Oh, must be so nice, yeah  
Oh, lucky dog...  
_

_And I wanna be like Wendy  
I wanna be like Wendy  
All-star tease, all-star tease  
Bang 'em up, bruiser queen  
_

_I wanna ride on your trampoline."  
~Cake Like, "Wendy"  
_

_1976: Age 17_

_From the diary of Karen Delaney: "I shouldn't feel this way. Nobody talks about feeling this way. But what is so wrong about it? I can't help that she likes me more than she likes him. I want to tell everyone what we're doing, but I know that she would deny it. But at least I get to tell her to her face that she's beautiful."_

Beauty queen. Homecoming queen. Karen's queen.

When she found herself in Maine last year, under the care of her father's sister Caroline, Karen knew she had almost everything going against her. She had to fill her aunt in on everything her mother had done since her father's death, why she was so fed up with Lois and ran away from home, leaving her little sister behind with so much reluctance, and calling Caroline frantically from the nearest payphone begging her to take her in. The last place Karen had ended up with her mother was one town away from Caroline; it was a no-brainer.

Lois never called after her, and in all honesty, Karen never minded. She didn't want to be found; if she was found, she would only be dragged back to the life she was trying to distance herself from. But the baggage of her past kept her from flourishing in this new town. High school was always a danger zone, but now that she was in her Senior year, she didn't see the point of even trying to make friends. So she had resigned herself to being a wallflower, trying to save herself from the awkward social free-for-all that was contained in that building. As long as she made it to graduation day, she could break free from it all, do whatever she wanted.

And then in walks Wendy. Dating a boy from the football team. Sitting pretty in the highest social circle in school. Untouchable by the likes of Karen, by the likes of most people. Assigned to be Karen's lab partner in Chemistry. Karen had always excelled in her studies, always made sure that she performed the best that she could, and it didn't take long for Wendy to appreciate the grades coming to them as a result of the pairing. And because Karen was the main reason behind the way they excelled in class, Wendy took it upon herself to try to make some conversation, if only to show her appreciation. They never expected to like each other. And they were careful to make sure that no one else knew that they did, only confining their public interaction to Chemistry class, sneaking off whenever they wanted to see each other outside of the judgment that always came along with high school.

Karen wasn't sure if it was a joke on her when Wendy kissed her under the bleachers the first time. It was only when it happened again, underneath the metal seats while Wendy's boyfriend was on the football field practicing that she let herself relax, that she let herself kiss this girl back.

The flame would burn out faster than it took to spark; Wendy would move to California for college and realize any long distance relationship would take more effort than she could give, severing her ties with both Karen and her boyfriend. But when it did burn, it was intense. It was uncharted territory, not only closing the gap between cliques, but also feeling the kiss of another girl. It was exhilarating. It was liberating. It made Karen come out of her shell.

A few weeks before the end, Karen got a call from Wendy asking her to come over, to meet her in her backyard. Karen rode her bike in the dark, stepped quietly through the trees in Wendy's yard until she found her blonde beauty queen sitting on the trampoline by the porch. Whether it was because they knew it would soon be over, or simply because they didn't want to wake Wendy's parents, they didn't speak. Wendy had a pageant tiara in her hands and put it in Karen's hair before she took her hand and helped her onto the trampoline. She had always told Karen that she was beautiful; Karen had never believed her. Looking back on it, Karen would wonder if Wendy realized how significant of a gesture it was, to crown her as her private beauty. They spent that night lying on the trampoline looking at the stars. And for the first time in years, Karen felt as though she belonged.

She loved someone the outside world told her not to love. But she didn't care. She knew she wasn't wrong.

* * *

_1998: Age 39_

She wasn't sure how long this had been growing inside of her—for all she knew, it began when they first met—but as she felt Grace's hot breath on her shoulder as the redhead leaned over her and showed her what she needed faxed, Karen knew for certain that it would be hard to contain it.

Maybe it was the fact that Grace had been so warm right from the start, when Stanley had turned to ice. Maybe it was the fact that Grace was so willing to help without asking for much. But she found that her thoughts of her redheaded savior had lingered with her long after she left the office. And at first, she didn't think much of it, had chalked it up to the fact that Grace was the one she spent most of her day with, so naturally it would be hard for Karen to get the red head out of her mind. But then she felt the warmth of Grace's words on her skin, the warmth of Grace's body so close to her own. And she discovered, whether she wanted to or not, that she was toeing a line that once crossed could never be returned to again.

But, god…every time she thought of even crossing that line, she thought of Wendy. Wendy, who was forbidden not only on a level of what her small Maine town thought was normal, but because of high school hierarchy as well. Sure, some may have considered her boyfriend as something else that made her off limits, but Wendy had never been too concerned about him, so why should Karen have been?

Grace was forbidden too. It was hardly the fact that she was another woman; Karen had always been comfortable with her sexuality, even more so since she moved to New York City. It was more because she was now working for the red head. It was more because they had become tentative friends under the circumstances. But in spite of it all, Karen couldn't help herself. She wanted Grace. And she could swear that the red head wanted her, too. It was in the way Grace lingered during the day, her hand leaving Karen's shoulder just a second too late. Her smile staying on her face a moment longer than it should. The slight blush that occasionally rose to her cheeks when Karen spoke. The dark haired woman knew all the signs; she had lived long enough, and gone through plenty of relationships to know how this went. And she was so close, she was. She would have gone for it; that is, if she hadn't met Danny.

Karen always knew that Grace had a boyfriend; it was the reason she ended up in the dive bar, the reason they started talking. But she had never seen him, just like she had never seen Wendy' s boyfriend, wasn't sure which member of the football team he actually was. And like Wendy, Grace's current relationship became irrelevant to Karen. Until one afternoon when she had come back from her lunch hour earlier than Grace had.

She had been absently flipping through a catalog from home when she heard voices through the open door, coming from the stairwell. Automatically, she could pick out Grace's laugh. The other voice, on the other hand, belonged to a man she could not place, and she figured that it went along with Grace's best friend she keeps talking about, Will something-or-other. But then she saw the kiss through the doorway, and knew that it must be _Him_. The capital-H Him who she could not refer to by his first name ever since she realized these things about herself, about her connection with Grace. The red head caught the dark haired woman's stare and broke away from her boyfriend. "Karen," she said with a smile as she walked into the office. "This is Danny." Karen slipped her hand lifelessly into Danny's grip and murmured a half-hearted hello before he left. And when she was certain he was out of earshot, she let something slip out of her lips under her breath that she would later regret, but knew was necessary if she wanted to keep her head above water.

"Kissing in the office? I didn't realize owning your own business meant you could slack on professionalism."

It didn't matter how softly she said it; it cut through Grace and Karen could tell. The red head physically jerked, as if she had been startled by someone coming up from behind her. Karen couldn't blame her. After all, they had been nothing but warm and cordial to each other up until then; it simply didn't make sense for the dark haired woman to say something so cold. Grace's lips parted as if she would respond, but nothing came of it; she simply lowered her head and made her way back to her desk.

As much as she didn't want it to, the comment sparked in Karen a mean streak. Slowly working in criticism, slowly watching Grace's skin grow tougher. And while she knew it left the red head confused and defensive, Karen was not about to explain herself. Because the truth was, she knew she had to drive a wedge in between them in order to keep her heart intact. She had been kind to everyone she loved, and when they were gone, the hurt was too much to bear. This time would be different. She knew she couldn't have Grace. So she distanced herself as much as possible; that way, when the inevitable happened, and the red head grew tired of her friendship, the wouldn't feel it as deeply as she usually does.

Everyone leaves. And she was not about to feel the pain that would surely come with Grace leaving.


	5. Good Feeling

_Good feeling  
Won't you stay with me just a little longer?  
It always seems like you're leaving  
When I need you here just a little longer  
Oh, dear lady  
There's so many things that I've come to fear  
Little voice says I'm going crazy  
To see all my worlds disappear.  
~Violent Femmes, "Good Feeling"  
_

_1978: Age 19_

_From the diary of Karen Delaney: "Oh god, I hope he doesn't know."_

She hated formal dances in high school. But she hated them even more when she got to college. They reminded her so much of the juvenile antics she had longed to avoid once she enrolled in her studies. Karen didn't want to go, even when that guy from her British Lit class asked her to be his date (she had told him that she'd think about it, not wanting to let him down so hard right away). It wasn't that he was unkind; in fact, she was closer to him than most at the school. She just never thought of him in the way he was obviously thinking of her. But then, in passing, her roommate Sylvia had told her that her boyfriend Elliot had asked her to go. And that changed everything.

More than anything, Karen wanted to know how Sylvia felt against her body. It killed her to watch Sylvia move during the day, to know that she was only a few short feet away when they slept at night. But it was such a delicate situation to be in. They lived together in the dorms. Karen knew that if she were to make the move she so desperately wanted to make and it backfired, it would shatter the harmony that they built in their temporary home. But that didn't mean she didn't want so badly to try, even as she started to distance herself from the girl, if only to salvage whatever sanity still hovered over them (god, Karen hated giving her the cold shoulder, but she knew it had to be done). She could see the look in Sylvia's eyes whenever she was with her boyfriend; she wasn't happy. Still, Sylvia smiled her absent smile, playing a part she regretted auditioning for.

As soon as Karen found out that Sylvia would be at the dance, she stuck around after British Lit to catch the guy who had asked her out, told him that she would be happy to go with him. But when she picked out her dress and did her hair, she wasn't thinking of how he would react to her appearance. All she could think of was how Sylvia would see her. It wasn't as if she was expecting anything. But she could dream.

She walked into the dance on the arm of her date (for the life of her now, Karen cannot remember what his name is), trying as hard as she could to mask the fact that she was frantically searching for her love. But with Sylvia nowhere in sight, she reluctantly turned her attention to her date, who was all smiles. "God, you look stunning," he said before bending down to kiss her cheek (she hated how he towered over her). "Let me get you something to drink." She watched him as he made his way to the refreshments and sighed. Because she knew what he was expecting tonight. And she knew she couldn't give it to him.

Just as she started to follow him, she felt someone pull her back and turn her around. Karen's heart skipped a beat when she found Sylvia and her big, sad eyes, gorgeous in a dress made of dark green satin. Her boyfriend had gone off to greet his friends, leaving Sylvia to her own devices. "Come with me," she said to Karen in a distraught whisper, and before waiting for a response, pulled Karen by the wrist to the restroom and locked the door. "What are you doing here?" she asked with tears forming in her eyes. "You hate these things."

"I was asked," Karen said. "You don't want me here, do you?"

"I can't do this with you here," Sylvia said as she paced around the tile floor, her speech speeding up with each step. "I can't be with him when you're here, I can't, he's going to know."

"Hey." Karen grabbed a hold of Sylvia's shoulders, stopping her in her tracks. "Calm down. Don't get yourself so worked up. Tell me what's going on."

"I hate that you don't talk to me anymore." And before Karen could respond, she felt Sylvia's lips pressed fiercely against her own. She felt Sylvia's fingers running down her back, fumbling with the zipper of her dress as they stumbled across the room against the wall. Her touch was warm, her lips sweeter than Karen had ever tasted. It was useless, pointless to try to refuse it now. Karen let her hands slide down Sylvia's curves, and Sylvia pulled back. _Shit_, Karen thought. She went too far. She messed up. She couldn't come back from this.

Sylvia smiled and brushed a lock of Karen's hair behind her ear. "Don't hide from me," she said. "It made me hurt to want you when you did." She plunged her lips into Karen's neck and sighed in ecstasy.

When they resurfaced on the dance floor, Karen watched as Sylvia automatically returned to Elliot's arms, and although she knew it was to assuage suspicion, it broke Karen's heart to witness this scene. Her date didn't seem concerned at all that she had been gone, leaving her disillusioned, and immediately took her by the waist to dance. She could feel his heart beating against his chest when she rested her head against it. So slowly so he wouldn't notice, Karen moved towards Sylvia and Elliot, and when she got close enough—and was sure that their dates weren't paying attention—she reached for Sylvia's hand and held it while she swayed to the music with her date. It was the beginning of a secret that made her whole.

It was a secret she didn't mind keeping.

* * *

_1998: Age 39_

She walked into the Park Avenue Penthouse to find her with a smile plastered on her face as he kissed her in front of the crowd, and she was angered by the thought that Karen Walker was full of shit. And almost as instantly, she was relieved that she decided to drag Danny along with her at the last minute.

Grace wasn't sure why she was so upset at what looked like Karen's happiness. She wasn't even quite sure if it was real happiness. It might have been staged, and she wouldn't be surprised, in such a public occasion like this. But it sure as hell looked real, and it felt real. It was as if there was a fist against her skin that wouldn't unclench until it did as much damage as it could possibly do. And she wanted to shout, so loud, to get it to stop, but what exactly was wrong about a wife interacting with her husband?

Here, in this setting, with these people, with their background, everything.

Lately, Karen had started to turn cold, bitter with the red head during the workday. Grace had originally chalked it up to trouble at home; they had met commiserating over their relationship woes, after all. But this absence that the red head felt made her realize just how much she relied on Karen's friendship. How much she relied on Karen speaking, anything, to make her feel as though she wasn't alone. And now, looking at the way she held onto him, she was overwhelmed with loneliness in this sea of people.

Danny made his way to the bar that was set up without asking Grace if she wanted anything. She didn't belong here. She knew it. But it was that feeling in the pit of her stomach that brought her here. That indescribable yet wonderful feeling she got every time Karen looked at her, that feeling that could only be attributed to the dark haired woman, because she had only ever felt it in her presence. And until she could put a name to it (and even when she could put a name on it), she wanted to be in Karen's presence forever. Danny was supposed to make her feel this way, and maybe at one point, he could have. But her mind was with Karen now.

Karen caught the red head's eyes and Grace felt it where she always did. No smile, no light in the eyes that Grace had wanted so badly to be the cause of. She watched as Karen parted the socialite sea and stopped in front of her. "I didn't expect to see you here," she said once she reached speaking distance. "You don't seem like the kind of person to want to go to these things."

"I was asked," Grace said meekly. "I can go if you don't want me here."

"Honey, I wouldn't have invited you if I didn't want you here." Karen looked around the place before taking Grace's hand. "Come with me," she said softly, forcefully. The red head was led upstairs to the library, a sudden silence washing over them as soon as Karen closed the door. "What's going on, Grace?" she asked, her gaze following the red head as she sat down on the couch. "You obviously have something on your mind."

Grace turned to face her when the dark haired woman took a seat next to her. "You don't talk to me anymore. I couldn't figure out why. And then I walk in here, and I see you kissing him, and I realize that it's because you just can't keep up with the charade of a broken marriage anymore. I saw the smile on your face. You were happy. We have nothing in common."

"You don't know the first thing about my marriage. And I'm certainly not going to apologize for having one good day with Stan out of the thousand others that are horrible. If you're angry with me for being happy for thirty minutes, maybe you should reexamine your own life instead of obsessing over mine."

They let the silence hover around them for a moment. Then, in a fit of desperation, Grace pulled Karen into her arms, thinking back on how she had done just this during Karen's interview, and what a drastically sad difference a few weeks makes. "I just want you back, that's all," she managed with a cracked voice. And before she fully realized what she was doing, she kissed the soft skin of Karen's neck, lingering even though she knew she shouldn't.

"Please don't do this to me," Karen whispered, defeated, feeling the hot sting of tears piercing her cheek. "You have no idea."

Grace pulled away and froze for a moment. It was the first time in weeks she didn't hear a calculated, almost robotically cruel response from Karen, and she didn't know what to do. She watched as Karen slowly made her way out the door, and waited a couple of minutes before she followed suit.

"I want to go home now," she said when she found Danny downstairs. Because she had finally found the name for the feeling in her stomach. And she couldn't bear dealing with it in the company of her boyfriend, of Stan, and of the woman she had inexplicable fallen for.


End file.
